


Factual Evidence (of Love)

by Iithril



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: (all the fluff because they deserve it), 5+1 Things, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:48:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28597980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iithril/pseuds/Iithril
Summary: Five times Frank showed his love for Matt in public, and this one time Matt had to make a choice.
Relationships: Frank Castle/Matt Murdock
Comments: 47
Kudos: 128
Collections: DDE’s 2021 New Year’s Day Exchange





	1. The feelings of fingertips

**Author's Note:**

  * For [givemesomewings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/givemesomewings/gifts).



> Here it iiiiiiiis!
> 
> Written for the [Daredevil New Year Day's Exchange](https://daredevilexchange.tumblr.com/), for [maniskordaze/givemesomewings](https://maniskordaze.tumblr.com/), using the prompts _Public declaration of love_ and _Frank makes Matt choose between him and Matt’s latest mission_. 
> 
> Betaed by the excellent and wonderful [Arboreal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arboreal), who has all my gratitude. 
> 
> Supported by the fantastic, amazing and very kind mod of this event, [titC](https://archiveofourown.org/users/titC). Thank you for being understanding and sorry for being late like this. You're the best!
> 
> Next chapters coming soon!

**1 – The feelings of fingertips**

Frank wasn't big on showing his feelings. He hadn't quite been raised like that, the Marines hadn't asked that of him nor taught him how to do it, and when he became the Punisher, his most recurrent feelings were wrath and pain. He was good at expressing anger, and he had learnt, although he was reluctant to do it, how to explain his pain. A little bit. Enough to stay afloat, at least.

Red didn't ask him anything. He took Frank's presence at his side as a gift, opened his door, his arms and his heart, and let Frank walk in and try not to break anything. They had bad days, rainy days, stormy days, and they had their rays of sunlight, when everything felt right, even for a moment. Their relationship wasn't exactly a secret either. Karen had guessed because Matt had swapped one of his shirts with Frank's; Matt had told Foggy, after he had asked Frank permission to do so, because he didn't want to keep secrets from his friend anymore. Curtis knew, because he was too damn observant, and Frank had given him the rest, and the Lieberman family was about to know, because they had invited Frank for dinner, telling him with an excessive amount of winks and innuendo that he could bring someone with him.

Frank had taken the bait and had asked Red if he was willing to come with him, to which Red had beamed and had immediately answered that he was coming and needed to iron a shirt. Frank had rolled his eyes and decided to give him a hand with it. As much as he marvelled at Red's enhanced senses and what they allowed him to do, he'd rather avoid scorch marks on the shirts they now shared. So, yeah, monitoring the ironing.

On the day of the dinner, Frank took a shower, scrubbed behind his ears, groomed his hair just a little bit and dressed up casually. He exited the bathroom, a towel on his shoulder, and heard Red coming back from his office. He witnessed his man stripping at a quite impressive speed out of this lawyer clothes, tossing his cane and his briefcase onto the couch with perfect aim, then his tie and his shirt onto the bed, pulling his shoes off with his next step, and landing a kiss on Frank's lips before sliding in the bathroom and closing the door behind him in a smooth motion.

Frank smiled, amused by the tease and the nervousness he could feel emanating from Red. It was their first time going out together like this, _official_. Not that Frank cared – he had his man's affection and attention, he could take care of him, that was all he needed. Yet, he couldn't deny there was an exhilarating feeling building in his belly when he thought about it.

Maybe David would also stop trying to introduce Frank to all his single acquaintances, in the hope that his friend would find someone suitable for him. He trusted the Lieberman family to keep the secret and not reveal to the whole world Matthew Murdock from Nelson & Murdock was in a relationship with the Punisher, even if technically the Punisher was dead to the world. They knew how to keep secrets for sure, and that was part of why he appreciated them.

He was finishing tying his boot's laces when he heard the bathroom door slide again. He cast a look, waited until the steam that exited the room and surrounded Red vanished, and stayed still, enthralled.

Maybe it was why they hadn't gone out together yet. Red was only sporting a white shirt, his deep blue lawyer vest and matching pants, and yet he was gorgeous. His red curls were glistening with water drops, and he knew, the little shit, he knew exactly the effect he had on Frank, cause he walked up to him like a panther, his grin large enough to reach his ears, he cupped Frank's head with his hands still warm from the water, the subtle citrus scent of the soap clinging to him, and Frank still hadn't regained his composure. He would have thought it was beyond him to be flustered like that, that he had seen enough bad shit to become apathetic, enough pain and betrayals for him not to believe in love anymore.

Joke was on him, Red had turned him into a sap.

"You alright there, Frank?" Red whispered, his face so close they shared the same air, the citrus scent becoming stronger. A water droplet from one of his curls touched Frank's forehead, and the cold, wet feeling brought him back, grounded him. Red noticed, because his grin widened and he gave Frank a forehead kiss, light and gentle.

Frank had had to learn again about gentleness, he who had lost himself in violence. Red hadn't been much better, but he had got up on his feet faster than Frank after all they had been through, his renewed faith in the world an anchor, allowing him to wander without losing his way. 

Frank didn't have this type of anchor. It took a lot of talking with Curtis, a lot of brooding and polishing his weapons, an awful lot of punching bad guys and occasionally walls before he could pretend to stay afloat by himself, and by this time Red was at his side, supporting him and loving him. If he didn't fear the word, Frank would say Red was his anchor, but he couldn't. Too early.

The extent of his luck was still astounding to him every morning.

"Should we go?" Red asked, pulling away, his hands caressing Frank's beard before falling at his side.

"Yeah," Frank said in a strangled voice, fighting to get his voice and his body under control. David and Sarah would tease him forever if he behaved like that during the dinner, so he had to get his shit together. Act composed. Act as his usual gruff self.

Red put his glasses on and grabbed his cane, and they headed out to Frank's truck. He knew the directions to David's place, and the drive went smoothly, Red listening to some country music and idly tapping the rhythm on his thigh. The scent of his soap slowly filled the truck's cabin, and by the time they arrived Red's hair was almost dry, glinting under the headlamps of the cars they crossed. Frank parked in front of the house, pulled the handbrake and sighed sharply.

"Nervous, Frank?" Red teased again, his hand moving to rest on Frank's thigh, giving him a comforting squeeze.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Frank answered, but he was grateful for the reassurance. It felt new to him, this nervousness, the anxiety. It wasn't like he was introducing his boyfriend to his parents, for fuck's sake! He was an adult, Red was too, Sarah and David were expecting him to show up with someone and he was delivering. End of story.

He jumped down from the truck and waited until Red exited too to lock the doors. The projector at the entrance door of David's house lit up when they approached, making Frank feel like a deer caught in headlamps, and he almost stopped. Almost, but he felt Red's hand sliding in his, pulling him forward, giving him the courage to continue, so he walked to the door and knocked. He heard giggles, Leo's excited voice muffled through the door, then it opened to reveal all the Lieberman's family gathered with welcoming smiles and open arms. Frank entered and Red followed, still holding hands, and Frank could see Sarah's eyes gleaming with joy as she glanced at them both.

The dinner went well, Red was polite and witty and Leo loved him immediately, asking hundreds of questions about the cases he had worked on, how the court was, and Red obliged, explaining everything in as many details as he could, and Frank observed from a corner, an untouched glass of wine in front of him, a dreamy smile on his lips. He made sure not to stare for too long, to call Red by his name, which felt oddly solemn and made Red grin, because he knew.

That didn't prevent David from asking really intimate questions once the kids were off to bed. He might have had one too many, laughing a bit too loud, but Frank bore it stoically, and for once he was grateful for Red's ability to deflect questions without sounding impolite. Their hands found each other under the table, a grounding presence for Frank, and when they decided to leave, because it was getting late and Red had work to do the next day, they left their hands locked together, waving goodbye to their hosts and heartily thanking them for the invitation and for the dinner. Neither of them had drunk more than one glass, so they weren't even tipsy when they got home and crashed in their bed, a soundless laugh escaping Red's lips as he turned to face Frank properly, his glasses askew because he had buried his head in the blanket.

"That went better than I expected," Red said, and Frank realised he was relieved. He felt like he had passed some sort of test, introducing his partner for the first time to people that didn't know them both already.

"You were nervous?" he asked Red as he leant towards him to take his poor glasses off. Red let him proceed and put the glasses on the bedside table before he answered, "Of course I was."

"Didn't seem like it," Frank said, raising a doubtful eyebrow. He didn't have enhanced skills to tell him about Red's heartbeat or breathing rhythm, but he could recognise signs of nervousness. Yet he hadn't noticed anything from Red.

"You were even more stressed than I was, I counterbalanced by acting composed. It's my job to appear calmer than I am, you know?" Red laughed, poking at Frank's chest, and Frank grunted. He didn't know if it would have reassured him, or made him freak out even more to know that Red had been nervous as well. Either way, he was slightly jealous of the man's talent for social interactions.

They undressed and adjusted the blanket around them, Red snuggling in Frank's arms with a contented sigh. As Frank fell asleep, his hands found Red's again, and he realised it had been the first time they held hands in front of other people. The pride of having shown his partner to David and Sarah grew in his chest in happy bubbles as he drifted away.


	2. Shivers and Scarves

**2 – Shivers and Scarves**

Frank didn't know why he had accepted Red's proposition. It felt like a bad idea, in hindsight. He didn't like to be in public that much, even though his hair and his beard had changed his appearance enough people had stopped staring at him as if they had just seen a ghost.

But Red wanted help picking Christmas presents, and Frank had indulged him, because he knew he wouldn't have gone out to buy presents on his own, and because he knew how much Red struggled with colours and such. It was a way to repay his partner for everything, and Frank was grateful he could be of some help.

So he had dressed up warmly, picked his black vest and his beanie, slid a knife in his pocket because he would have felt naked otherwise, and he had headed out of the apartment to meet Red outside of his office. He had walked at a brisk pace, white clouds escaping his mouth with each exhalation. Winter was coming for them, the sky dapple grey and the wind biting at every inch of skin available. Weather forecast indicated snow should arrive in the next few days, and there was this chill in the air, this spark of excitement that always preceded snowfalls.

When he arrived at the office, Red was already waiting for him outside, clapping his hands together in a vain attempt to keep them warm, his cane ready, his chin tucked in his scarf and the top of his head naked in the cold, hair shuffled by the wind. He turned to Frank as he walked to him, tapping the ground, a bright smile on his lips and his cheeks turned pink. He looked adorable, but Frank stifled a shiver when Red's left hand caressed his own hand before wrapping around his arm — Red's fingers were pale and bluish and his skin was ice cold.

"Thank you for coming, Frank, really. I know your aversion for shopping and for public appearances, but Foggy has been kidnapped by Marci and Karen told me she didn't want me with her. I think it's because she hasn't picked our presents yet, and she was afraid I'd guess and spoil the surprise," Red babbled immediately as he walked Frank down the street, seemingly knowing their destination. Frank stayed silent, the shadow of a smile on his lips. He couldn't help it — seeing Red joyful and a bit flustered by the cold was doing something to him.

"I'll make it short, I promise! I prepared a list, I grouped the items by categories to limit the number of shops we would have to go to, and I chose shops not too far from home and fairly close to each other." Red single-handedly folded his cane, now that he had Frank to play his guide, and slid it into one of his pockets, the top of the cane barely visible. He then plunged his hand inside his vest, searching for something — a piece of paper, that he waved triumphantly under Frank's nose.

"Did you write?" Frank asked, dumbfounded as he grabbed the sheet and unfolded it, holding it tight to prevent the wind from stealing it.

"Nah, Foggy did. I made him write a lot more shops than what we're going to visit," Red added as Frank took a sharp inhale when he mentally counted the shops, "I didn't want him to make a guess based on the shop. I purposefully complicated his investigation!" he exclaimed with a little laugh, swaying a bit, and Frank tightened his grip on Red's hand.

Red led the way to the shops they really needed to go to, his steps light, and Frank could hear him humming in his scarf, fogging his glasses. It warmed Frank's heart to see his partner this happy, and he decided that going Christmas shopping was a small price to pay for such a reward. So he patiently waited as Red searched for everything he wanted, pondering each purchase, asking Frank and the vendors for advice, joking and teasing and laughing. He was so at ease, he made everyone comfortable around him.

After three different shops, they had found the gifts Red wanted for Foggy, Karen and Marci. There were two other shops still to be visited, and as much as Frank wanted to stay positive, the Christmas tunes looping constantly, the crowd of customers surrounding them, encircling them — sometimes rude to the staff, which angered both Red and Frank – and the frenzy exhausted him. It seemed to take a toll on Red as well, as his smile wasn't as bright and his laughter not as frequent anymore, so Frank softly asked, "Wanna do the rest later? The shops won't disappear overnight, y'know."

He could have bet on Red's reaction, and he would have won — Red shook his head, clenched his fists and said he wanted to do it all today.

"I don't want to inflict this on you twice, Frank, I know how terrible it is and I know how much you hate it," Red answered, and Frank rolled his eyes and couldn't resist the urge to gently poke Red's head.

"Hey! What was that for?" Red protested as Frank grabbed him and started to walk towards their next stop.

"I'm not hating it as much as you think," Frank said, grinning at Red's indignant face.

"Way to prove it, huh," Red pouted.

They entered the penultimate shop, and Frank inhaled sharply and braced for the inevitable Christmas song repeated for the fifteenth time, despite the fact Christmas was in more than two weeks. He followed Red's trail, focusing on his questions and trying to give as many details as possible to help him pick what he wanted — in this case, a heating pad for Sister Maggie.

Once they had chosen, spent twenty more minutes waiting for other customers before them to make their choice, paid and gone out, Red halted again.

"You _can_ go back without me, if that's what is worrying you. I know my way home, I don't mind going to the last shop alone."

A lot of possible answers crossed Frank's mind, ranking from "for fuck’s sake I'll come with you" to "stop being a martyr, altar boy," but he knew Red would argue with him anyway. It was one of his partner's passions, to the point it had become part of his job. Frank had found he could rarely win a conversation with Red if he played fair, so most of the time he didn't.

This time, he pulled Red closer to him, until they were a few centimetres apart. Frank was slightly taller, and his boots helped increase the gap, which meant he had a perfect view on Red's messy hair and he could see his eyes behind his glasses. He glanced at their reflection in the windows around them, suddenly aware of the people passing by, the way they looked at Red and him, staring at his face, some frowning at Red's glasses and cane, some smiling almost with complicity.

He elected to ignore them, and instead he brought his hands towards Red's neck, slow enough for Red to know what he was doing and let him stop Frank if he wanted to, and he slid his fingers in between the scarf and Red' warm skin, feeling the immediate shiver. He noticed how Red tensed immediately, tried to tuck his head between his shoulders, his mouth slightly open in a silent gasp, and Frank chuckled.

"May I know what you're doing?" Red asked in a tight voice, doing his best to remain composed.

"Adjusting your scarf," Frank replied mildly, and he actually moved his hands to the scarf's knot to adjust it, as it was untying little by little. He took his time to redo the knot properly, and Red stayed still against him, shivering ever so slightly every time Frank's fingers came close to his skin.

"Don't want you to be cold," Frank added with a smirk, and Red opened his mouth probably to say something sarcastic, but he grabbed Frank's arm and declared instead, "You're going with me in the last shop," shaking his head as if he couldn't believe what just happened.

Frank followed Red's guidance, still smirking, content with his mischief. Red's warmth had made his fingertips tingle, his skin soft under his fingertips, safely hidden beneath the tight embrace of the scarf.

Red could have a hickey and nobody would know, Frank thought, and he clung to the thought as they entered the last shop, the obnoxious music assaulting them again.

  
Well, nobody _except Frank_ would know.


	3. Atlas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my beta, [Arboreal](/users/Arboreal/), you're the absolute best and I cannot thank you enough for your work. 
> 
> Special thanks to [titC](/users/titC/), whose works gave me the inspiration and the courage to hurt Matt (it's a beginning, he has a twisted ankle. I'm only getting started...). Mother hen Frank is at it again, of course.

**3 – Atlas**

It wasn’t supposed to go down like this.

To be fair, it wasn’t supposed to happen at all. They had secured the place, Red had ensured there wasn’t any surprise guest to the party before they raided the place, and it went well. Frank made sure to aim for kneecaps, Red twirled and jumped and smiled like the Devil himself — the adrenaline was kicking strong this night.

It always felt special for Frank to fight alongside someone. Back with the Marines, he had his comrades, he knew he could trust them with his life anytime. It was a bond that transcended words. It was absolute.

Then there had been bitter betrayals, his back against the wall, the loneliness. The responsibility of his own life weighing on his shoulder, the constant attention he needed to give to opponents coming from behind. Curt had helped at some point, but Frank had been reluctant to ask too much of his friend, who had already rebuilt part of his life outside of the Marines. Still, it had felt good to have someone he could trust protecting him again. It had been comforting, to know he wasn’t alone, despite how much he had dreaded to involve Curt in his own shit.

But now? It was different from the Marines, and different from Curt. Red had his back all the time, not only when they fought. Of course, when they fought, Red was as reckless as Frank, and Frank had saved his ass more than the other way around, but from time to time Red would deflect a projectile coming for Frank, or parry a blow. It had felt terribly wrong at first, Frank letting his worries betray the better of him and solely focusing on protecting Red — which was unnecessary, Red had proved him by kicking his ass several times. Then he had had to adjust to the difference in their fighting style. They had the recklessness in common, but Red much preferred his fists and feet or his sticks, whereas Frank still struggled not to feel naked when he didn’t carry a gun with him. He knew how to throw a punch — hell, he was very good at it. But his hands held his guns as if they were an extension of his arms, each with their characteristics. He invested a lot of time taking care of them, and in exchange they helped him take bad guys down.

Frank had had to learn how to accommodate for Red’s presence in the middle of the people he had to shoot, he had learnt to fight in the dark, breathless grunting the only indication of their enemies’ positions, he had learnt to trust Red’s words and follow his orders in a matter of seconds. Red had learnt not to jump in the middle of enemies and fight like he wanted someone to kill him any second, and to rely on Frank to avoid being cornered or attacked by too many people for him to handle. They made a good team now, but it had asked a lot of work for the both of them, a lot of trial and errors and heated discussions.

And they still made mistakes. Proof was Red had stupidly twisted his ankle on their nightly mission because he hadn’t listened to Frank in time. Nothing a few days of rest wouldn’t heal, but there was still anger and guilt fighting in Frank as he brought Red back to their apartment.

“I need to go to work tomorrow,” Red sighed as Frank carried him to the bathroom, after having managed to take off his shoes without Red falling off his back.

“Do you have crutches?” Frank asked immediately, as he knew Red wouldn’t mind wandering around with a twisted ankle, and Frank didn’t want that, for both their comfort.

Red shook his head then stayed silent for a moment as Frank worked his way to undress him, keeping the shoe for last. He had a couple of bruises, but nothing a bit of arnica couldn’t help, Frank noticed as he helped Red slide out of his shirt, shivering ever so slightly, the paleness of his skin accentuated under the crude light of the bathroom, the bruises dark purple spots over his chest and arms.

“Tell me if it hurts,” Frank said as he knelt in front of Red, unlacing his boots and trying to open them as wide as possible. Given how bad Red was limping, there was a good chance his ankle was swollen, if not broken. Only time would tell, but for now, they had to take the shoe off.

“Like right now, or when you’ll try to move what holds my ankle in place?” Matt asked sarcastically, and Frank would have retaliated another night, but he grabbed the shoe instead and began to pull it off. Red hissed immediately, his knuckle white around the edge of the bathtub, his head tipped to the ceiling, his eyes closed in pain. He bit his lips to prevent the noises, and Frank clicked his tongue.

“I said talk to me.”

“Just take that fucking shoe off and let this be over, please,” Red whispered through gritted teeth.

Frank obliged, firmly grasping Red’s calf in one hand, the shoe in the other hand before pulling in a swift motion, and Red gasped silently, his hands moving to Frank’s, gripping tight.

“It’s off,” Frank stated simply, already turning to shuffle in the cabinet for arnica and bandages, leaving his arm extended since Red hadn’t let go of his hand.

“Yeah, I kinda noticed,” Red found the energy to joke.

He stayed silent as Frank carefully coated his fingers and palms in arnica before gently rubbing the swollen area, at first circling around it, testing the waters, watching Red’s every flinch and stifled hiss. The skin was red and hot, but as far as Frank could tell, it didn’t seem broken. He had a good idea of Red’s pain tolerance, and now that the adrenaline had worn off, it felt like Red would have cussed or protested much more vehemently had there been a broken bone.

Still, he couldn’t walk normally.

Frank took his time to wrap Red’s ankle as best he could, mainly to avoid any unwanted movement. It made Red’s foot almost too large for his boot, but it would have to do. With a little luck, it wouldn’t be broken.

“Do you know if Karen has crutches?” Frank enquired, because he definitely wasn’t letting Red go around limping, or worse, hopping on one foot.

“I can walk without crutches,” Red retorted in answer.

_Insufferable_ , Frank thought to himself as he slid an arm under Red’s legs, the other one a firm support on the man’s back. With a sharp inhale, because Red wasn’t that heavy, but wasn’t light either and Frank had already carried him on the way back, he lifted him in his arms. Red squealed and squirmed, trying to escape Frank’s embrace, probably because he wanted to prove Frank he could walk by himself — and maybe Frank should let him try, let him walk through the pain and think about his sometimes misplaced ego and his never ending desire to be able to live on his own without anyone’s help, but it was already late and it was much simpler and so much more enjoyable to carry Red to the bed and to drop him like a potato sack, although Frank made sure Red’s ankle didn’t hit anything.

“Karen?” Frank asked again, unwilling to give up yet.

“I don’t know,” Red pouted, searching for his glasses by reflex before he remembered he wasn’t wearing them, grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around him with a grunt.

Frank couldn’t help smiling at the sight, but he managed to stay focused long enough to send a text to Karen asking if she had crutches. He tossed his phone on the bed next to Red’s cocoon, stripped and walked to the kitchen for a glass of water — he hadn’t realised how thirsty he was until this very moment.

By the time he filled a glass, drank it and filled it again for the night, he heard his phone chime and Red complain about it, the sound of his voice muffled by the blanket.

“Hey you grumpy spring roll, Karen has crutches. She’s bringing them tomorrow,” Frank said gleefully after a quick glance at his phone’s screen.

“I’ll walk to the office.”

“Whadda say? Can’t hear you.”

Red’s head popped out of the blanket roll, his hair all messy and the circles under his eyes dark and deep.

“I’ll walk to the office, I said,” he repeated, as if he really believed Frank hadn’t heard him.

Frank didn’t fight, didn’t answer. He had learnt when not to argue, and he was actually very tired. So he rolled over, unwrapped the blanket around Red and replaced it with his own arms, cutting off Red’s complaint by letting him muse in the crook of his neck, and settled to fall asleep.

The next day, as Red was getting dressed for work — a white shirt and a red tie Frank had chosen, plus his vest that landed perfectly on his shoulders, Frank grabbed the key of his truck and waited near the apartment door, knowing well Red expected him to be here and knew why.

“Do I get a choice?” Red said in a whiny voice as he put his shoes on and took his folded cane in hand.

“Yeah,” Frank answered mildly, stifling a snort at Red’s doubtful expression.

“Bridal carry, fireman’s carry, piggyback.”

“I should have known… Piggyback,” Red sighed, and this time Frank widely grinned, happy with himself, and relieved that Red had chosen to let him help. It wasn’t much, but it meant a lot for both of them, and Frank knew how hard it must have been for Red. His ankle was still swollen and painful, as proved by all the swearing when Red had tried to get up on his own before Frank in the morning. But Red dreaded needing someone else’s help, hated losing the independence he had fought for.

Which was why Frank had given him a choice, instead of throwing him over his shoulder. And the fact that Red trusted him enough to let him do this, even if he complained, it made Frank’s heart loop and melt, and he ignored the curious looks bystanders cast at them on the street as he carried Red to the truck, gently helped him sit, then carried him again up to Nelson and Murdock’s office, where Karen was waiting for them with a long awaited pair of crutches.

And if Red “forgot” the crutches in the trunk when he got back and had to be carried the next morning, well, Frank was more than happy to feel Red’s comforting weight on his shoulders, his arms wrapped around Frank’s neck, his feet dangling against Frank’s ribs. Frank was more than happy to carry Red for a little while, to be the support Red needed, and to be accepted as such was one of the greatest gifts Red could have given him.

The crutches spent most of the time in Frank’s truck before Red returned them to Karen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We almost had a bridal carry! Next time, who knows?
> 
> If you have a moment and enjoyed your reading, feel free to let me know your thoughts in the comments! Thank you~


	4. A shelter for two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the antepenultimate chapter of this story! The fluff continues. 
> 
> Many thanks to my awesome beta for this work, [Arboreal](/users/Arboreal/), whose speed and efficiency never ceases to amaze me. 
> 
> Special thanks to B. for giving me the inspiration I needed for this chapter!

**4 – A shelter for two**

Frank was waiting.

He was used to it. Watches had never bothered him, and this time was no exception. In fact, it was almost pleasant.

He was waiting for Red. The man had brought a case to court, something about an illegal eviction, and today was the big day. Frank had helped Red choose his clothes and dress up, adjusting his tie for him, ensuring his hair wasn't rebelling too much. Driving him to the place, where he had left Red with Foggy, for a last rehearsal. He had squeezed Red’s hand before letting go, a firm reminder he was there and that everything was going to be okay.

Red had rehearsed with Frank throughout the week, with the little time they had together, in between their busy days and their fighting nights. 

It never ceased to amaze Frank how different Red was as soon as he started talking in his lawyer voice. He clearly enjoyed rhetorics, and he wove his speech masterfully, leaving no way out. 

During their nightly missions, he was efficient, but still implemented turns and spins in his fighting style, flamboyant high kicks and bold stick throws. His speeches were similar – just as efficient, yet built with figures of speeches, subtle anecdotes and reminders that helped Red keep his audience captive, enraptured by his voice and poise.

Frank was enraptured, at least. He wasn't listening to the words in themselves, losing himself in contemplation, admiring Red's talent every time Red asked him to play the audience. He had to remind himself to pay attention, for Red would ask questions, wonder about the speech's structure and the examples he used, and Frank would have to say something about it.

Listening to Red's voice, the energy he poured into it, how invested he could get, it soothed Frank. It brought a dreamy smile to his lips every single time, as he stared in awe.

It would distract Red sometimes, the sounds of Frank's steady heartbeat going even slower, his whole body stilled and his entire attention turned to Red. The words would stop rolling out of his mouth, and he would still his hands and tilt his head towards Frank in silence, his mouth slightly open. The first time it had happened, he had even thought Frank had fallen asleep!

Red had asked Frank if he could wait for him after his audience, to go and celebrate with him and Foggy once everything was over. They were confident they could win the case, with all the evidence they had gathered both during their day investigation and their night wanderings. And although Red had spared Frank his triumphant speech on how justice mattered and how shooting people in the head wasn't a viable solution, his jubilation was palpable even if mixed with stress as Frank had left him in front of the stairs leading to the court.

Red had offered him to sit in the audience as the case was open to the public, but Frank had enough bad memories about court not to risk it. He didn't want to risk memories surging up, and it would bring unwanted attention. The big bad Punisher had made it to the front page of newspapers when he had been taken to court, and Red had taken his defence.

So no watching Red's performance, despite how much he wanted to. He had had the honour of seeing all the rehearsals, of seeing Red stutter and hesitate, searching for Frank's head and asking for his opinion, and it was enough for him. It was yet another proof of Red's trust in him, and it meant so much that only thinking about it brought a smile to Frank's lips.

He had thought of waiting in the truck, but it had started raining. Not a gentle drizzle, but a heavy rain, the sound of the water drops on the truck's roof making a loud rumble, rivulets running down the windshield and windows. In a matter of minutes, the road was covered in a layer of water despite the sewer drains swallowing as much as possible, a constant stream gurgling down.

Frank had grabbed the emergency umbrella under the passenger seat, put his hood on to protect his face, and had bravely ventured outside his truck, crossing the road with his umbrella opened in front of him like a shield from the rain curtain. He had climbed up the stairs carefully, as they were now looking like those fancy urban waterfalls with water running down the steps, treacherous and slippery. The security guards stationed at the entrance had looked at him weird, but hadn't commented, and when he had walked to a column on the side of the building's entrance and waited there, they had politely ignored him.

And now he was waiting. Rain was still falling, the sound of it a pleasant white noise to Frank's ears, pushing away his worries and his dark thoughts. He wasn't cold and the column deflected most of the water thrown at him by the furious wind. He lost track of time, staying perfectly still, his body leaning against the column, the umbrella at his feet ready to be used again. And he thought about Red, and how his speech was going. He was imagining him speaking to the judges, a polite smile on his face and his glasses hiding his eyes, his tone passionate and warm when he talked about the residents and their need of housing, then icy and demanding when he addressed the tenants' representative.

"Hey, bud," a gentle voice echoed behind him, and Frank was so deep in his reverie it took him a second to turn his head and identify the newcomer.

"Hey, Foggy," Frank greeted as Red's friend walked to his side.

"You're waiting for Matt?"

"Yeah, he convinced me to do it," Frank huffed with a shrug. He felt strangely light-hearted after so much time spent gazing dreamingly at the rain.

"I can believe that, he can be really convincing when he wants to," Foggy laughed as he adjusted his tie. It felt comforting to see how at ease Foggy was when in Frank’s presence, compared to his wary behaviour when Red had first announced they were together.

"He still inside?"

"He's talking with all the residents that came to the audience. They all came for him, they even made him cookies and cake and a ton of other things, all the ladies are saying he's too thin and that his girlfriend isn't taking good care of him."

"I feed him properly," Frank answered, almost offended. He would have been offended, had he not met the ladies in question before, but they were the type to feed anyone that didn't have the mental strength to resist their offers. Plus their cookies were _delicious_ and he had managed to trade recipes, so he was glad Red had an opportunity to eat, since he had barely eaten anything before they left.

"That's exactly what he said, and then the ladies told him to tell you about your Vietnamese recipe and how you absolutely needed to visit them again to eat their version of it. You won them over too," Foggy winked at Frank merrily.

Frank stayed silent and Foggy didn't add anything. He stayed at Frank's side for a couple of minutes in a comfortable silence, both of them staring at the deluge, before Foggy cast a look at his watch and excused himself.

"Best of luck," Frank said absentmindedly, already hypnotised again by the rain.

"It's time for the verdict," Foggy shouted as he trotted back to the entrance, showing his accreditation to the guards who let him in with a nod, glancing curiously at Frank.

Frank sighed, slightly shifted his feet's position to keep the blood flowing, and resumed his wait.

~°~

"You're still here," Red's voice almost startled him coming from behind him, the rumble of the rain having covered his footsteps as Frank was searching for him among the crowds exiting the court and walking down the stairs.

"You found me," Frank replied, taking in as much information as he could. Red looked drained, but content. A verdict in their favour, then, but he likely had to fight for it harder than planned. There were crumbs on his shirt, a remnant of the cookies. His hands were shaking, and he leant against Frank with a deep sigh of relief. He had had enough of public attention for the day.

"I'd find you anywhere," Red simply stated with a nudge against Frank's chin, and Frank lost his voice for a second, his throat tightened by emotions which threatened to overflow him.

They stayed like this for a while, Red's warmth slowly filtering through Frank's jacket, his breath an hypnotic rhythm on which Frank synchronised instinctively. They watched the crowd leave the building, an army of taxis stopping by, their headlights diffracting throughout the rain waves. Nobody noticed them hidden behind a column, away from the ruckus caused by the tenants’ complaints to the journalists and the celebration of the residents of the building.

"Foggy ain't coming?" Frank asked softly, finally noticing Red's friend wasn't there.

"I think Marci called him and he said he'll meet us at Josie's in the evening. We can head there now if you want? Or we can stay here and witness the deluge, as you wish,” Red answered, his voice tired but serene.

"Let's go, altar boy," Frank rumbled as he grabbed the umbrella and slid his arm under Red's with the ease given by habit.

They walked to the truck, Frank holding Red close, their pace identical. 

Rain surrounded them, waterfalls streaming down the umbrella, a bit of water dampening Frank's shoulder. Red must have sensed it, because he pulled Frank even closer, their hips touching and his leg moving right behind Frank's in perfect harmony. They descended the stairs, careful not to trip on each other's foot, completely oblivious to everyone around them, the sound of raindrops crashing on the umbrella filling their ears, to the point it would have been impossible to talk over it. They didn't even try, for they were comfortable in silence, finding comfort in each other's presence and in the ethereal atmosphere.

It felt like nothing mattered but the next step they took together, as they couldn't see further away than that. Time was meaningless, their destination as well. They could have walked for hours like this, shielded under their shared umbrella, Red's hand wrapped around Frank's arm and holding him tight. Frank was content to have Red at his side again, and relieved that they had won the case, after all the hours they had dedicated to it. He felt proud that Red had won, proud his _passion_ had been convincing enough.

They could celebrate tonight, as they had done a good deed. There was still plenty to be done, and a lot of people still in need, but the rain prevented Red from hearing them, limiting their world to the umbrella, to the both of them. They could rejoice, and go back to fighting later.

They deserved the rest. The rain offered them an opportunity on a silver plate, and they gladly took it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have a moment and enjoyed your reading, feel free to let me know your thoughts in the comments! Thank you~


	5. An eye for an eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Penultimate chapter, finally _here_! Sorry for the delay, really, dear givemesomewings, and I hope you'll enjoy it. Next chapter coming soon, promise ;)

**5 - An eye for an eye**

It had started innocuously, like most things between them. It had taken a fucking long time for Red to ask, of course, because he had himself convinced he could do everything alone, and it's not like he couldn't, he was a perfectly capable man, as Frank had told him several times, but there were things he simply couldn't do.

Hell, he could pick Frank's heartbeat in the middle of a crowd, he could guess what Foggy had eaten and which restaurants he had gone to with Marci, he could jump from roof to roof like a jerboa with twirls and twists that made Frank wince just thinking about it, he probably had kilometres of law texts memorised somewhere in his brain. Did reading really matter? Was there anything shameful in asking someone to read the menu, or the directions, or a user’s manual?

Apparently, cause it had taken a broken coffee machine, a weird choice in a Japanese restaurant when Red had asked for the chef's speciality and two escapes on the roofs when he was supposed to go meet someone with Foggy and lost himself on the way back to convince him to ask Frank for help.

At first it had been hesitant. Reluctant.

At first Red hadn't even asked directly – he had only let Frank come near him and glance over his shoulder to read him the options on the menu, or he had slid him the piece of paper the distracted waitress had given him with his order's number on it. Typical Red. Voicing his need of help would have hurt his pride, he who had done his best to be independent and who had pushed his friends away more than once.

He had tried with Frank, but it turned out that when an immovable object meets an unstoppable force, it creates sparks. It hadn't helped that Frank had mocked Red's annoyance, to stir a proper reaction and make Red phrase his concern instead of lashing out at Frank. A few punches had been exchanged before Frank had pinned Red to the floor – he hadn't needed a win, only to exhaust Red enough to force him to give up.

The Devil didn't like to give up, of fucking course, so Frank had helped.

He didn't consider Red's blindness as something bad. Sure, sometimes it sucked Red couldn't see the sun setting down when they roamed the roofs, the messy pigeons flying all together at dawn, the streets layered in snow and snowflakes twirling in the air, the abstract patterns of ice on the windows, Foggy's beaming smile whenever Red entered their office and said hello, the gratitude and respect shining in the eyes of all the people he helped both day and night.

It sucked, but Frank made a point to tell him whenever he could. He wasn't used to that, talking, describing his surroundings. Foggy did an awesome job at it, because he knew which information Red needed and which he could deduce by himself. Frank had had to learn how to do it, how to put into words what Red couldn't see nor guess in his world set ablaze.

Red hadn't thanked him immediately. He hadn't tried to discourage him from doing it either, because he knew it would have proved impossible. Sparks had already flown, and he hadn't wanted a second round. But to thank Frank meant to acknowledge he was _helping_ , and it was a terrifying prospect to need help.

Not that Frank couldn't understand – his flashing memories and his nightmares had deprived him from sleep until he had had the courage to ask Red to snuggle closer at night, his joints were painful on rainy days and his shoulder often got stuck since a bullet had gone through the muscle, and he had to ask Red to grab the bowls in the upper cupboard and to slide Frank's jacket on him.

As much as Frank didn't like to ask for help, the Marines had taught him to do it. Sometimes asking for help was the bravest thing one could do, and some things couldn't be done by a single man. Frank regularly tried to do everything by himself nonetheless, Red and he were very much alike in that regard, but it was easier for him.

The important thing was that Red had asked for help. Silently at first, waiting for Frank to pick up the hints, and then willingly, voicing his needs. If he could do it by himself, then Frank knew he would, and Frank didn't dare take the initiative for fear of upsetting Red. He waited for the call for help then hurried to answer it, his heart singing with the unspoken trust, taking the measure of the vulnerability that Red wasn't afraid to show him anymore.

"Frank? Daydreaming during the job, hm?"

Red's voice brought Frank back to the present, and he shook himself mentally to try and remember what Red had just said.

"Not my job," he replied to buy him more time, and Red snorted.

"Maybe, but you're my mental support on this, so I'm counting on you."

Frank sighed, causing Red to laugh a little as he returned to his pile of papers full of legal jargon Frank was getting sick of. Lawyers should learn how to call a spade a spade, instead of using all those convoluted laws and exceptions and exceptions to the exceptions. Frank respected Red and Foggy for their ability to learn all of this shit and to be able to use it as easily as they did – he wouldn't have been able to. He didn't have the patience for it anyway.

"Ah, Frank, can you read this for me?" Red asked, holding a note in front of Frank's eyes. The file he was studying had been handed to Nelson and Murdock from Marci's firm, as a sort of collaboration, and most of it hadn't been adapted for Red yet, hence Frank's presence in the office.

"See third paragraph of the contract, two exclamation points, then abusive clause, question mark?" Frank deciphered, trying to put the proper intonation.

"Great, I haven't scanned this paragraph yet, let's do this," Red sighed as he shuffled through the pile and grabbed one of the documents. Frank watched him walk to the antique printer and power it up, its starting noise resembling a plane about to take off. It was a nice, sunny day, even if chilly, and light was flowing in the office, shining on the dust particles dancing around.

Frank admired the nuances in Red's hair as he passed through the light column – the almost blond shorter hair near his forehead, the darker ones around the temples, and this vivid impression of a fire set ablaze and burning through the hair strands.

Red was a perfectly fitting nickname, even without Daredevil's previous costume.

"Other side, Red," Frank indicated as Red was about to put the sheet on the scanner window. He swiftly turned it around and mumbled a thanks, and Frank caught himself smiling.

"What are you smiling at?" Red asked as he started the scan, the noise reminiscent of an MRI.

"You," Frank answered mildly, before he added, "Has anyone told you it's uncanny when you do that?"

"I do it either with people I want to trouble on purpose, or people I know won't be troubled," Red stated, distracted by the computer's instructions now that the scan was over.

"I'm first or second?"

"You want the real answer?"

"Yeah."

"First. I enjoy troubling you, you should know that," Red smirked.

Frank almost rolled his eyes but stopped before Red could tell him he had. Instead, he glanced at the pile of documents, chose one that didn't look very important and neatly folded it into a plane shape before throwing it at Red. It had been a long time since he had made paper planes – the last had been made with Frank Jr, on a sunny afternoon much like this one. He wasn't as rusty as he thought he would be, because the plane indolently flew towards Red and almost hit him; but Red caught it and turned it in his hands to examine it.

"Did you make a plane out of my very important legal documents?" Red asked, an eyebrow raised as if he couldn't believe it.

"How is it?"

"It flies, I guess. Which is a nice improvement to legal documents," Red laughed as he threw the plane back at Frank – putting a bit too much strength in his throw, causing the plane to fly upward, then directly to the ground, landing at Frank's feet.

Frank retrieved it and unfolded it to read the first lines to Red, just in case he actually needed the document. Turned out he did, as it was part of the contract he was studying, so Frank tried his best to smooth the folding wrinkles out while Red was giggling in a corner.

They laughed again when Red's text-to-voice reader misread several words on the page he had scanned, transforming the formal tone of the contract in some silly nonsense which, added to the robotic voice of the reader, was even more absurd.

Frank's hilarity faded when Red asked him to proofread the scan, because he would need to listen to the contract again and couldn't possibly work like that. With lots of sighs and grumbles, he sat at the computer, complaining about how inefficient the reader was with every mistake he spotted.

"Hey Frank, that's the only program I can use that fits my needs, don't blame it too much," Red gently said as he leant against Frank's shoulders. It almost looked like he was trying to peek at the computer's screen, but Frank knew Red was just tired yet trying his best to improve Frank's mood.

"I'ma call David, tell him to make you something better," Frank grumbled. He appreciated Red's efforts to comfort him, and he was happy to help, and even happier that Red had trusted him enough to ask for _his_ help over Foggy's, but the lack of accommodation Red had to put up with on a daily basis was a nightmare.

"You can invite him for dinner," Red suggested lightly, his fingers idly playing with Frank's hair. Frank hadn't had hair this long in a very long time, but Red said he liked the texture, so Frank had indulged.

"There's not beer or wine at home," Frank answered as he reached the end of the page, fucking finally.

"We can go buy some! You'll read me the labels, Foggy gave me recommendations from his last restaurant's dinner with Marci."

It felt so natural, Frank realised as he grunted an agreement and closed the computer. They had found a common ground to stand on, and Red was trusting him and including him in both his daily life and his future plans, which was something Frank couldn't have imagined when he had started to build a relationship with Red. And while they still had their bad days, their "epic battles" as Foggy called them, and their own attempts to do shit alone when they could ask for help, Red had grown comfortable with asking Frank to do something for him.

"You alright, Frank?" Red asked as he helped Frank put his jacket on – despite the sun outside, Frank's shoulder was uncooperative and Red had noticed immediately.

"Hmm," Frank replied absentmindedly, trying to unpack all the emotions shaking his heart at the moment. It made his chest constrict with happiness, with _elation_.

Frank had never thought reading wine labels could bring him any kind of joy, and yet.


	6. +1 - Blind to it all

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess I shouldn't say anything anymore regarding chapters and when they would be ready, cause I jinxed _all of them_. But here we are, at the end, finally. 
> 
> A huge thanks to [gelishan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gelishan) for betaing this chapter, and all my gratitude to [Arboreal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arboreal) for their work on this series. 
> 
> Thank you everyone who followed this series, for your patience, your kudos and comments, and sorry for how long it took to reach the end.

**+1 – Blind to it all**

"Yes, Karen?"

" _What is it, Matt? Why are you calling this early?_ " she yawned into the phone, making Matt hold the device away from his ear until she was finished.

"Do you have spare blankets?" he asked, tilting his head towards the bedroom, carefully keeping his voice down.

" _Uh, I guess I have blankets on my couch. Dare I ask why?_ " she asked humorously. At least she was taking it well that he had called at five in the morning to ask for blankets.

"We, hm, damaged some, and Frank is unwell so I don't want to leave him alone, but he's also cold, and I think he's running a fever or something, because he's burning hot, even more than usual, so I'm hoping someone could lend me a blanket or two, and I know Foggy is with Marci so I didn't want to call him..."

Matt stopped rambling when he realised he _was rambling_. It wasn’t his style, but apparently he needed to, because Karen's giggles managed to make him smile a bit, a stark contrast to the last few hours.

" _You didn't think I could’ve been with someone?_ " she teased, and Matt blushed and stuttered.

"I- Well, I... No," he admitted, slightly ashamed and ready to hang up.

" _Lucky you, I spent the night with my pillow. I'm on my way with the blankets,_ " she said, and he could hear the rustling of her blanket, then her steps on her floor. If he focused enough, he could hear her joints creaking in protest at her getting up so early.

"Thank you," he whispered before hanging up with a sigh. He turned his attention back to the bedroom again, concern clawing at him, but Frank's breathing seemed all right. A bit too shallow, requiring just a little too much strength on the exhale, as if air was becoming heavy in his lungs, but his life wasn't in danger so far. He was still radiating heat, and the smell of his sweat was enough for Matt to know something was still wrong, but Frank would hold on until Karen arrived.

Probably.

Matt didn't know anymore – he was worried. Frank was sick, and Matt was worried.

But there was very little he could do apart from wait. He walked as silently as he could back to the bedroom, slid in and sat unceremoniously on the floor next to the bed, leaving all the mattress free for Frank to toss and turn on if he wanted to. With another sigh, and a furious desire to bite his nails, he rested his head against the mattress. His hand moved on its own and went searching for Frank's hand, which it found and clung to, checking his pulse out of habit.

At least Frank's pulse hadn't changed. It was always the same rhythm, steady and soothing, powerful enough to make the skin vibrate under Matt's fingertips as the blood rushed through with each beat. He focused on the rhythm like he always did, letting his whole universe fade until there was nothing but Frank's heartbeat under his fingers, his own heart beating the same pattern, both their bodies now at the same frequency. When Frank stirred and groaned and his heartbeat sped up, Matt's heartbeat followed, and he couldn't help but notice how Frank had taken hold of his hand, interlacing their fingers, anchoring Matt once again.

Matt was so focused on Frank, so irrationally terrified that each breath he was taking wouldn't be followed by another, that he nearly missed Karen's arrival. He snapped back to reality when he heard her heels clicking up to his doorstep, and he reluctantly let go of Frank's hand to go unlock the door for Karen.

"Hey! God, there's nobody in the streets at this hour, it’s never taken me so little time to drive here," Karen whispered excitedly as she dumped an armful of blankets that smelled like her perfume and her apartment, lavender and cherry and coffee, on Matt's couch. She tiptoed to avoid making noise, and Matt was so grateful for the attention and that she had driven directly here so soon after his call, that he hugged her without thinking about it.

She stayed still for a split second, taken aback, before returning the embrace, lightly rubbing his back.

"He's gonna be alright," she said in his ear, and he nodded, his throat too tight to say anything. He _knew_ Frank was going to be all right, he _knew_ it probably was just a cold, which wasn't even that surprising given all the time they had spent on the rooftops, all the wintry showers they had endured, all those times they had gone back from a more or less successful night, too tired to dry properly, crashing on the couch together with their hair damp, their clothes soaked, only to regret it the next day, when their bodies made them pay for the lack of proper maintenance.

And Frank had worked a lot – he was working part-time at a nearby animal shelter now, smelling like dogs and cats and vibrating with happiness when he came home, and he was helping every single nice resident living near them with anything they might need – carpentry, plumbing, mechanics... He was driving Matt around and taking care of the apartment, he was reading all the things Matt couldn't before Matt could even think to ask about it.

He was doing a lot, and now he was ill and Matt felt empty.

He missed Frank's presence in the kitchen, shushing him away when he tried to guess what Frank was cooking, then explaining each step patiently in ways Matt could comprehend and remember in case he wanted to replicate the recipe on his own one day. He missed the smell of gunpowder, Frank’s guns taking all the space on the low table in front of the couch as he lovingly oiled them, the clicks of each moving piece a strangely comforting melody. He missed Frank’s gruff, rumbling voice, ringing in Matt's ears, tethering him, shielding him from the city's constant chaos that threatened to swallow him if he wasn't careful.

Frank was _fucking_ sick and Matt didn't know what to do.

What would Frank do in his situation?

He wouldn't panic. Not the type. He would joke about it, poke Matt about how he was staying in bed, or remain silent but here nonetheless, an unwavering presence Matt could perceive even if bedridden.

Matt could do that. But he knew Frank couldn't tell if he was here the same way, even if the man had an uncanny ability to find Matt. So he'd have to announce himself.

Frank would use his time to do something. He'd clean his guns, or cook, preferably something Matt could eat in bed and that could comfort him. Something like soup? Matt could prepare soup for sure. Vermicelli, perhaps? He could do that.

He absentmindedly thanked Karen again and again, apologising for the ungodly hour at which he had called, but she didn't seem to mind, saying that thanks to him she would have all day to do things and that she felt like she had all the time in the world – and she left after checking on Frank and helping Matt unfold the blankets. 

She left, repeating that Frank was fine, he just had a little bit of a fever, nothing a few days of rest wouldn't fix. Matt believed her, trusted her with his whole heart, but he had to do something to stop himself from thinking about it or he'd go mad from worrying.

So he did. He searched and rummaged through the kitchen until he found a box of vermicelli, then he filled a pot with water and managed to start the gas without burning himself. He couldn't find any broth or bouillon so he settled for salt and thyme, cut up carrots and mushrooms he found in the fridge to pass the time until the water boiled, then threw the whole box of vermicelli in with the rest. At least they would have enough soup for several days, right?

He began to hum as he searched for a bowl and a spoon. Not too loud, just enough to let Frank know he was here.

He hummed the hymns he had learnt and sung more times than he could count while he prepared the soup, then made his way to the bedroom, careful not to spill soup everywhere. It was scalding hot and it smelled good, which was more than enough for him.

"Look Frank, I made soup," he said softly as he put the bowl on the bedside table and crouched next to Frank, checking his temperature, feeling Frank's whole body vibrate under his touch.

"I guess I'm not working today, huh?" he laughed, realising there was no way he could focus on anything but Frank right now.

Frank grunted some unintelligible nonsense as he worked his way to sit up straight enough in the bed to hold the bowl without spilling soup on himself.

"Careful, it's hot," Matt warned when he gave him the bowl, happy to see that Frank had enough energy to eat – he was _fine_ , Karen had said – even though he was mostly non-verbal.

Indeed, he hissed as he took his first sip, and Matt let out a little laugh when Frank scowled at him.

"I told you it was hot, Frank."

The bowl was emptied nonetheless, then Matt helped Frank make his way to the bathroom, and he could feel the way Frank's body was sore and aching, so he carried him in his arms on the way back to the bed despite Frank growling, trying in vain to be menacing.

He installed Frank back under Karen's blankets, and he sighed as he remembered they would need to buy a blanket of their own – the one they had was soaked with blood, thankfully not from either of them, but it was sticky and stiff and it _obviously_ smelled like blood. Frank had passed out on it when they had come back from their night of patrolling, and while it could still do its blanket job, clean blankets were much nicer.

"C'mere," Frank muttered, and it took a second for Matt to make sense of the word before he heard Frank's hand tapping on the blanket.

"You sure? I don't want to–" he began to argue, but Frank grabbed his hand and with a surprising amount of energy – Karen had said he was _fine_ – pulled him in and snuggled close. He was still feverish, but his temperature was lower, nearly back to normal.

"'M fine," Frank said into Matt's hair, and Matt scoffed as he adjusted the covers around them.

"You're sick, is what you are."

"Not out tonight?"

"You want to know if I'm going out tonight?"

Matt considered it. If he listened to the city, he could hear the cries for help, as always. They never ceased.

But Frank needed him first and foremost. He had introduced himself into Matt's life, much against Matt's will – he was supposed to be independent and self-functioning and Frank had demonstrated how much he wasn't. Which should bother him, but it didn't.

Well, it did, but he could accept it.

He had helped, they had made it through storms and bad days and shitty nights _together_. Matt wasn't going to leave Frank alone, no matter how much a part of him was screaming at him for being a coward, for letting his feelings get the better of him – it screamed with Stick's voice, somehow, but Matt ignored it. Instead, he revelled in the weight of Frank's arms around him, his heat radiating and creating a warm bubble around them. His heartbeat setting the rhythm of their breathing, their chests expanding in unison. They could have that.

Matt could let himself _care_.

"Nah Frank, I'm not going out tonight. I'm not letting you fill your bowl by yourself, you'd set the kitchen on fire."

"You, not me," Frank's indignant voice echoed in Matt's ears, and he smiled.

"I made you vermicelli soup, you could at least be grateful."

Frank stayed silent but hugged him a bit tighter, and it was enough for Matt. Exhaustion hit him like a ton of bricks and he slowly drifted off to sleep, feeling safe and finally, finally relieved.

~°~

They ate vermicelli soup four meals in a row, and Frank swore to teach Matt how to season a soup better than that.

But Frank was fine, and so was Matt.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have a moment and enjoyed your reading, feel free to let me know your thoughts in the comments! Thank you~


End file.
